


I'm Meaner Than My Demons

by Marvelgeek42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, slighlty cracky, the side of the angels is boring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9450440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelgeek42/pseuds/Marvelgeek42
Summary: Sherlock gave him a condescending smile. “Did you know what I did when I was a child? Years before you even heard the name Carl Powers, dare I say.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Deanmon666 for reading over it.

“I might be on the side of the angels, but don't you dare think I’m one of them for a second. As if I would ever lower myself to that level of stupidity and boredom. I’m well acquainted with villains that live in my head and I welcome them just as much as you do. I am simply hiding in plain sight of the ridiculously incapable law enforcement.”

The detective gave the other man a dry laugh as he stepped closer towards Moriarity. The grin on his face would have worked just as well on the other man's. “They know next to nothing about me and neither do you.”

Moriarty began to laugh. “Oh, I know plenty enough about you, I’d say.”

Sherlock gave him a condescending smile. “Did you know what I did when I was a child? Years before you even heard the name Carl Powers, dare I say.”

* * *

The first time Sherlock Holmes ended a life, he was only seven years old.

His victim was their neighbour’s dog.

Sherlock didn’t have any particular negative feelings against the animal. The act was more a matter of convenience.

The dog had been nearby when he had finished the poison he had been working on for the last days and he needed to test it.

A small part of him recognized that this was not something he was meant to be doing—nevermind at his age— but he had never been one to follow the rules.

They were pointless, boring or plain wrong more often than not in his opinion, so he did whatever he wanted to do.

It was so much more fun, honestly. He didn’t see why everyone else had a problem with it, really.

This wasn’t the last life he took. Not even close.

* * *

“So you killed a few animals.” Jim Moriarty shrugged. “Buh Hoo. Do you think that scares me or something?! _I_ lead a _criminal empire_ , for God’s SAKE!”

Sherlock send the older man an icy stare. “Who ever said I stuck with animals? And really, you should check who is in control.”

Right as he said that, several red dots appeared all over Moriarty.

He looked down at his chest for a few seconds before he smiled. “You are even more interesting than I first thought! Well done!”

“Jim, my dear—I can call you Jim, right? Don’t bother answering, I’ll do it either way—the same can be said for you. And believe me when I say that this is not a compliment I give often.”

“It’s a shame my plan won’t work this way,” Jim commented, gesturing around. “Despite appearances, your heart is just as hollow as mine.”

The other man gave him an icy smile, returning to the very edge of the building. “Who said it wouldn’t? I am getting kind of bored, pretending to _care._ ”

He spat the word out the way other people might say ‘serial killer’ or ‘rapist’.

These kind of people were so much more interesting than their well-groomed counterparts that flawlessly fit into society.

Nothing more than a bunch of goldfish.

And Sherlock jumped.

* * *

A few days later, the two men arrived in Morocco.

They had a lot of fun there, taking care of corrupt leaders in their very own way. They visited and either the official in question swore allegiance to them or he would be replaced.

Dead people rarely stay in office, after all.

While the former happened more often, the latter did happen numerous times as well.

They never were even close to being caught. Between the two of them, they knew all of the tricks to make the perfect crime.

There was absolutely no evidence whatsoever left behind. Not even stains of blood on a window two blocks away where they had indulged in some of their other tendencies.

Jim was a great kisser.

Of course there were numerous rumours in the darker parts of society that two British men were going around and getting rid of their connection to the government.

Sherlock and Jim had a lot of fun with that and soon people all over the world began jumping at their own shadows, afraid of mere silhouettes of them.

This side was a lot more fun, there was no doubt in Sherlock’s mind.

* * *

“Ever been to India?” Sherlock asked one evening as they were lying in a hotel room somewhere in Bulgaria, enjoying the countless loopholes that lousy security left open for them.

Not all of the things they were doing were illegal—the sex, for example, was simply frowned upon—numerous things—like the drugs—however, were.

Jim shrugged, absently playing with a lock of Sherlock’s hair. “Never had a reason to. Has that changed?”

“Well,” Sherlock looked towards his partner in crime. “I heard that Mycroft is going to be there. I think it’s time to create another conspiracy theory.”

“That sounds like fun!” Jim exclaimed, before frowning. “Can we get an elephant while we’re there?”

“Where would we keep it?” Sherlock questioned. “It’s not like we could take it with us on a plane.”

“Well, we could,” Jim pointed out.

“But hijacking planes is so much effort! Is an elephant really worth it?”

Jim nodded. “You’ll never know when you might need one.”

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. We’ll get you your elephant. But you’re taking care of it.”

* * *

They did, actually, buy—well, not buy. Why would they bother _buying_ something when there were so many more interesting things to do?

They did, actually, get a hold of an elephant, but they decided that it was indeed too much of an effort to bring it with them, so they left the animal in the hands of one of Jim's more trustworthy employees.

Before that happened, there had been a long discussion about what to name the animal. Both men had wanted to name it after themselves at first, only to discover that the animal in question was female.

Eventually, after dismissing more names than most people knew, they had managed to agree on a name, Wilhelmina.

“If we were ever to decide to get offspring—as ridiculous as a notion as that would be—you would not be naming them,” Sherlock had declared at one point, shaking his head in disgusted surprise. “Jessica, honestly, I can't imagine you came up with a name like this.”

“We can't all be called Sherlock bloody Holmes,” Jim pouted.

“Actually, it's William Sherlock Scott Holmes, as you should very well know,” Sherlock corrected.

Their fight had ended by a suggestion to return to their hotel.

* * *

A couple of months later, they decided to return to Britain. Three years had passed since Sherlock had 'died' and the two of them were curious to see what the others had done during that time.

Neither of them were surprised by the fact that Lestrade's marriage was looking worse every day or that Donovan hadn't changed at all. John's wife was not something they had expected—not that either of them would ever admit it—but there was one thing that would have left their jaws hanging open if they had been anyone else.

Anderson had started to show signs of intelligence. This was not something either of them had accounted for.

Once they heard of that fact, Jim looked at Sherlock. “Even though I am reasonably certain that I am stating the obvious, we are going to continue with our plans, right?”

Sherlock nodded. “Indeed. Even if Anderson has appeared to have finally grown a brain, he is no match for the two of us.”

“And, occasionally, your brother,” Jim pointed out, a teasing smile on his face.

Sherlock pulled his gun and shot in his partner's general direction. It missed Jim's waist by about an inch.

Jim laughed. “Did I hit a nerve?”

A second shot followed, this time in a two centimetre distance of Jim's head.

* * *

It took another two weeks to set their plan in motion and plan for every eventuality they could think of—no matter how unlikely it appeared to be.

They ended up with plans varying from John figuring their plan out before they got to the final step—somewhat possible—to their original plan being ruined by an invasion of flying hippos—something that should be impossible. They had been high when that particular plan—and a few others of that kind—had been made, but once that had ended, they saw no reason to get rid of them.

It was always better to be prepared.

* * *

As it turned out, they would not have needed to worry, as the original plan worked perfectly. Still, neither of them had any regrets whatsoever.

They had effectively taken over England and not one soul had noticed, apart from Mycroft who had been tasked with the actual ruling—barring any vetoes or declarations from them—and thus hadn't bothered reporting Sherlock and Jim.

England was simply the start of a larger plan. When they eventually ruled over the entire planet—and there was no way it wouldn’t happen—it would be beneficial to have a good system already in place to that they wouldn't be bothered by the roughly seven point nine nine eight billion goldfish they would be ruling over.

Not to forget that the paperwork was beneath their time, even though it was necessary if one wanted to avoid revolts. Taking over the world did not necessarily mean establishing a dictatorship, no matter what popular media tried to make people believe.

In their own, admittedly twisted, way they made the world a better place.

…

...

Okay, not really, but that was what they told Mycroft.

The truth was that it was that taking over was the fun part and that was all they really wanted.

The screams of protest mixed with those of pain, not to forget the looks of shocked horror?

That was the true beauty of it.


End file.
